Escape
by fanged geranium
Summary: Fëanor plots to escape from Mandos. Part 18: Tulkas cogitates.
1. Mandos

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue!

Fëanor and his sons were talking very quietly, frequently looking around to see if they were being watched by the Vala Námo, their host for the last few ages. It was a particularly important day for them, as it was to be the occasion of their twelve thousandth annual attempt to escape from Mandos. The twelve thousandth, that is, for all except Maglor, who had joined them only recently as a result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time during what Men called the Second World War. Maglor found it somewhat ironic that after surviving the wrath of two Dark Lords, one a Vala and the other a Maia, he should accidentally be killed by Men.

"So what is your plan today?" Curufin asked his father.

"It is an unusually brilliant idea," replied Fëanor, "even if I do say so myself."

"So it is not a tunnel this time?" enquired Celegorm.

"No." The tunnel had looked like an excellent plan until Maedhros pointed out that disembodied souls were unable to dig.

"I hope we are not going to hide behind the door and try to sneak out when someone else comes in," said Caranthir. They had tried this on several dozen occasions, with absolutely no success.

"No."

"We hope," said Amrod.

"That you have not," said Amras.

"Asked Grandmother Míriel to let us out through Vairë's house again," they finished together.

"No," said Fëanor once more. "My sons, you have utterly failed to grasp the work of genius that is my twelve thousandth plan."

"Very well Father," Maglor said sceptically, "what is your marvellous idea? Do enlighten us."

Fëanor chuckled. "It is such a simple plan that I am surprised I did not think of it centuries ago." He laughed again, somewhat maniacally. "We are very politely going to ask Námo to let us out, and use some of his own judgements to convince him that we have already been here too long."

"I suppose it is worth attempting," said Maedhros, although he did not sound hopeful.

After explaining the relevant Dooms of Mandos and some of the finer points of his plan, Fëanor and his sons set out in search of Námo. The Vala was waiting for them to do something, as he had realised it was time for yet another escape attempt by the Fëanorians, but he didn't expect them to march up to him and smile ingratiatingly. "Good morning Fëanor," he said, a note of suspicion in his voice.

"Good morning Námo," said Fëanor jovially, "we are here to ask you to let us out of your halls please."

"Let you out?" Námo was shocked. "I distinctly remember sentencing you all to stay here until the end of the world. I admit that I would be happier if I did not have to keep such a close eye on you and your sons, but that is hardly sufficient reason for me to let you out to make trouble in Valinor again."

"We've been here more than four times as long as the Black Enemy had when you set him free to have a second chance to destroy Arda," said Maedhros, "and twelve times longer than any other elf who wanted to be re-embodied, including Maeglin."

Námo thought for a moment. "You might have a point there," he conceded, "most of you are only marginally worse than Maeglin. I'll go and consult Manwë."

He disappeared, which was fortunate because Celegorm and Caranthir had taken offence at his last statement. "How can we possibly be worse than Maeglin?" Celegorm shouted.

"We are not traitors!" bellowed Caranthir.

"We did not tell Moringotto where any of our cousins' hidden cities were, but treason surely depends upon your point of view," Maglor said thoughtfully. "Uncle Nolofinwë and cousin Artaher are probably still calling us treacherous sons of a..." he stopped talking, seeing Fëanor's face switch between rather alarming shades of red and purple.

Curufin grinned menacingly. "I still say that Turko and I could have done a much better job of ruling Nargothrond than Findaráto or Artaher did."

"You could hardly have done worse," said Maedhros, who was still annoyed that Orodreth had refused to fight against Morgoth at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad because Curufin and Celegorm were there.

Námo re-appeared, which prevented any further discussion of heroic half-cousins and their irritating, stubborn and unheroic nephews. "The other Valar and I have agreed to release you, but with certain conditions."

"Conditions?" asked Amrod and Amras.

"Naturally there are conditions," said Námo. "The first is that there are to be no more Kinslayings." He glared at the Fëanorians, just missing Curufin's grin at the mention of Kinslaying. "The second condition is that you must accept Arafinwë as High King of the Noldor and not attempt to re-claim the crown. Do you all agree?"

Fëanor, his skin now back to its usual rather pale colour, looked at each of his sons and noted their reactions to the idea of Finarfin as king before turning back to Námo. "We agree," he said.

Námo breathed a sigh of relief as the eight most infuriating inhabitants of his halls were re-embodied and returned to Eldamar. Things would be far more peaceful in Mandos now.

It was late evening in Tirion upon Túna when Fëanor and his sons found themselves suddenly standing in the gardens of their former home. Maedhros was about to congratulate his father on the success of his plan when he saw that Fëanor's attention was fixed on a particularly bright star just above the western horizon. "Nelyo," Fëanor said, "You told me that you and Káno recovered the Silmarils and fulfilled our oath, but that star looks strangely like a Silmaril. Perhaps you can explain?"

"I did tell you," said Maedhros, "I told you that Ulmo cheated and turned Elwing into a seagull so we could not get the third Silmaril, but we did get two back in spite of Eönwë. Káno threw one into the sea and I threw the other into a chasm of fire, along with myself. The Silmaril you can see in the sky is attached to Eärendil's head."

"Eärendil Half-elven?" asked Fëanor.

"Yes," said Maglor, "he sailed his ship Vingilot through the Door of Night onto the oceans of heaven. Russandol and I decided the sky was as good a place for the Silmaril as any. It is safe there and everyone can see your marvellous work."

"So do you not think we should build ourselves a ship and go after it?" Fëanor said. "The oath is not truly fulfilled until we have recovered _all _the Silmarils."

Maglor groaned and buried his face in his hands. "O Manwë, Varda and Eru Illúvatar, not again!"


	2. Fëanor

Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 1 - particuarly Faire Cuthalion, who has translated it into Spanish.

Nessa Ar-Feinel: Silly? I guess so, but I think there was a point in there somewhere!

Calvusfelix: Thanks for the con-crit - most of my fics come with titles attached before I start writing them, but this one didn't and I couldn't think of anything else to call it at the time. I do like your idea, though.

_Disclaimer_: _This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work. _

**Interlude 1: Fëanor**

Fëanor had enjoyed listening to tales of other times and places since he was a very small child. He remembered every detail of every story he had ever been told, and his alphabet was created at least partially because he could not bear that the way those stories were set down on paper should be less than perfect. In the Halls of Mandos he listened even more attentively than ever to the accounts his sons gave of Middle-earth, particularly Maglor's descriptions of ships that flew through the air, like birds with motionless wings: giant albatrosses sailing the skies, carrying Men to their doom. Maglor was killed by an explosive device dropped from one of these 'aeroplanes'. The last Noldo to leave Middle-earth, singing in pain and regret beside the shores of the sea until the bitter end, as bitter indeed it had been.

He sat at a sturdy stone table, one made by Nerdanel fifteen thousand years before, while the trees still shone. His hand was occupied with writing a letter to Eärendil the Mariner, but his mind dwelt on how he could build a flying ship to sail the Ilmen and take back the Silmaril, if the letter did not have the effect he desired. One thing Fëanor had learned during his stay in the Halls of Mandos is that it is always wise to have a second plan, in case the first should fail. He carefully sealed the letter and called for his eldest son.


	3. The Tower

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work._

**Chapter 2: The Tower**

Some months after their re-embodiment the seven sons of Fëanor found themselves wandering through the superbly well-presented grounds of a tall white tower on the north-east coast of Aman. Their father had stayed in Tirion to continue his research into air-travel, but he had given them a letter for Eärendil the Mariner, which they were to deliver to his wife, who Fëanor thought was more likely to pass it on to him than any of the Valar or Maiar.

In front of them a young elf, probably not long past his majority, was weeding a flower-bed. "I'll ask him," said Maedhros, "I can be polite and tactful when I must." He put on his most friendly expression and took a step across the immaculately manicured lawn towards the elf. "Greetings, my dear fellow. I am Nelyafinwë son of Kurufinwë, and these are my brothers." He had learned that it was often a bad idea to mention the name 'Fëanáro' when introducing himself. "Would you be so kind as to tell me where I might find Elwing the Fair? I believe this is her residence?"

"Oh!" squeaked the gardener, "I have heard of you: you are the second most feared elf in all of history!"

"Really?" asked Maedhros, suddenly looking interested, "Who else is on the list? I daresay my father is in first place."

"Indeed he is, though I cannot recall the exact order. If you would wait one moment, I shall fetch the book for your perusal." The gardener scurried away towards the tower, but then he turned back to Maedhros. "I am so sorry, this is incredibly rude of me. You must all come in and make yourselves comfortable; perhaps you would like some tea and a piece of cake?"

"What a delightful idea!" said Maedhros, remembering that they had not yet eaten lunch, and the brothers all followed the gardener into Elwing's tower.

Once they were settled in overstuffed armchairs, holding mugs of tea and large slices of fruit cake, the gardener fetched a stepladder and climbed up to the highest bookshelf, which was so close to the ceiling that only the smallest books could be placed vertically. He selected a weighty red tome that was coated in dust and carefully descended, holding the book almost reverently. The inscription on the cover was in silver lettering, and read 'A Comprehensive Guide to the Ten Most Feared Elves in the History of Arda'. He placed the book on a table, opening it gingerly. "There," he said, and began to read. "Kurufinwë Fëanáro is widely acknowledged to be the greatest Noldo, and quite possibly the greatest elf ever, but he is also the most dangerous and fearsome. There can be no doubt that he..."

"Yes, yes, we know all that," snapped Celegorm, "and you already told us that Maitimo is officially the second most feared elf, but what about the rest of us?"

"Perhaps you should just show us the list," said Maedhros, smiling at the gardener. "We promise not to damage your book. You must remember that we almost certainly know our father better than the book's author, so we do not need to hear his life story."

The gardener delicately turned over a few pages and pushed it to the other side of the table so all the brothers could see it.

"I'm third!" shouted Curufin, "You're only fourth Turko; I told you I was more frightening than you!"

"You are not scarier than me _Atarinkë_."

"Oh yes I am; the book says so!" Curufin threw his remaining fruit cake at Celegorm. "And that's for calling me by my mother-name _Turkafinwë_."

Celegorm growled and leapt to his feet, slopping tea all over the rug and dangerously close to the table.

"The book! Mind the book!" cried the gardener urgently. "It's a first edition!"

"Turkafinwë Tyelkormo you will sit down now." Maedhros's voice was quiet and calm, but with a slight edge to it that Celegorm recognised only too well. He sat down and mumbled an apology.

"I'm fifth," announced Caranthir, apparently happy with his placement, "and you're sixth, Makalaurë."

"That seems reasonable enough," said Maglor, "although many elves underestimated my fighting abilities, not to mention my musical talent. What was so special about that Daeron fellow anyway?"

"Oh, please, let's not start that argument again," said Amrod, "Ambarussa and I are joint seventh."

"So who are the other two elves in the top ten?" Maedhros wondered, "Maeglin, or perhaps Lúthien Tinúviel?"

"Lúthien?" sneered Celegorm, "She was pretty enough, but hardly fearsome. If she had not suborned my hound she would still be locked up in Nargothrond."

"She was helpless most of the time, but she did defeat Gorthû and she sang Moringotto to sleep," said Curufin, "but does she count as an elf? Her mother was a Maia."

"If you do not mind my interruption," said the gardener obsequiously, "Lúthien Tinúviel was not counted among the elves, as she chose to become mortal, so she was not eligible for consideration."

"Thank you, I am pleased you have resolved that dispute," said Maedhros.

"Maeglin is tenth," said Amras, who had taken Amrod's place next to the book "but there must be a mistake, or something wrong with my vision, because to my eyes it looks as if Findekáno is ninth."

"Findekáno?" laughed Caranthir, "Findekáno is hardly fearsome at all, except perhaps to dragons."

"Not to you, maybe;" said Maedhros, "but I was afraid of him for months after he cut off my hand. He was totally ruthless about it, and he must have terrified the Teleri at Alqualondë. They were winning and then Findekáno arrived and, well, that was that."

"Or it could be because of the manner in which he destroyed his entire army at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad," suggested Maglor, "Findekáno was never one to think before charging in after the idiots who started a battle."

Maedhros glared at Maglor. "Even when we were the idiots involved. Although I suppose we would not have been cursed by Mandos if we had lost the battle at Alqualondë, since the Teleri were the ones who attacked us." He turned to the gardener, who was eating his third slice of cake, occasionally dunking it into his tea. "Can you tell us the reason why our cousin Findekáno is on the list?"

"Of course, of course," said the gardener, delighted to be included in the conversation. He had just opened his mouth to embark on what was certain to be a very lengthy explanation, when a lady with dark hair and extraordinarily fair skin ran into the room. She took one look at her guests, shrieked loudly and ran out again.

"Was that Elwing?" asked Maglor, "I did not see her when we attacked the Havens of Sirion, but I believe you did, Maitimo."

"I saw her throw herself out of her tower window," Maedhros answered, "but I was more concerned about the Silmaril she took with her than remembering what she looked like."

"It looks like she remembers you," laughed Curufin.

"Most elves recognise me immediately," Maedhros pointed out, "I have not heard of any other elves of my height with hair this colour." His hair was glowing copper in the bright summer sunshine that was streaming through the window. "No one would mistake me for a Vanya."

"Nelyo, we are supposed to be here to speak with Elwing," Caranthir said, "we are meant to give her the letter Father wrote to Eärendil."

"We have no need to hurry," Maedhros said, "she is here in the tower. She cannot go out without passing us as there is only one door." A horrified expression crossed his face. "Oh bother!" he exclaimed, although 'bother' was not precisely the word he used. "she can change into a sea-gull and fly away. You have the best eyesight, Káno, run outside and look for any unusually large white birds." Maglor dashed out of the tower, stepping in the remnants of Curufin's cake as he went.

"Please excuse my mother," said the gardener, "she is uncomfortable among strange elves, and it can be terribly embarrassing sometimes. You would not believe how much I was teased by the other elf-children because my mother spends half her time as a bird."

"We understand," said Amrod and Amras, "we were teased about being twins."

Caranthir looked thoughtful and appeared to be counting something on his fingers "You are our half-first-cousin three times removed," he said with satisfaction.

"But Moryo, you hate all our half cousins," protested Curufin.

"No, I do not, I merely dislike them, which is why I need to recognise them on sight so I can avoid them." As usual, Caranthir's logic was indisputable.

Before Curufin could think of an appropriate retort, they heard Maglor shouting. "Don't jump, you fool!" he cried in his loudest voice, which was loud enough to make the tower windows rattle. The brothers and their newly-discovered half-cousin quickly ran outside to see what was happening.


	4. Elwing

Responses to reviewers

Sir Pent: Thank you!

Napolde of the Council: Couldn't he? (To both!)

sqrt(-1): Nerdanel and the rest of the family will get their say later.

AlienFreak: Yes, Elrond now has a little brother, but he doesn't know yet. Dior already sliced and diced Celegorm, so Elwing isn't out for revenge. Galadriel was indeed very scary, but not so much to other elves, which is why she didn't make the list.

Calvusfelix: The book was written by elves for elves, so Kinslayers are definitely the ones to watch out for. As with Galadriel, Fingolfin was not really frightening to his own people. Finrod, Orodreth and Thingol were the runners-up.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work.

**Interlude 2: Elwing**

Elwing screamed in horror at the scene in the living roomof her tower. The sons of Fëanor had come to kill her, as she had always known they would. She ran up the stairs to the top of the tower and there paused for a moment, remembering the destruction of her home at the Havens of Sirion, when in despair she had thrown herself into the sea rather than give up her Silmaril.

The Silmaril. Now it was no longer hers, and she mourned its loss, more than she grieved for the loss of her twin sons. Elros was gone forever beyond the confines of Arda and Elrond, raised by the Kinslayers to despise the jewel-thieves, had never forgiven her for choosing the jewel over him. It was not her concern that he had forgiven Maglor, who he said was driven by his oath rather than greed.

She leapt high into the air, as she had so many times before when flying to meet Eärendil, trusting as always to Ulmo to turn her into the great white sea-bird of legend, but something was different this time. She tried to flap her wings, yet nothing happened and the ground was swiftly rushing up to meet her. A dark-haired elf was standing below, shouting in Quenya, the language of the Kinslayers; a language she refused to learn. It was one of the Fëanorians, Maglor or Curufin she thought, and she idly wondered if he had somehow prevented Ulmo from coming to her aid.

He ran towards her, arms outstretched as if to catch her, but he was too far away and the ground was too close now. She plummeted into the unwelcoming embrace of a large rhododendron and lost consciousness.


	5. Eärendil

_Disclaimer: __This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work._

**Chapter 3: Eärendil**

They got out of the tower just in time to see Elwing's landing in the shrub. "My poor rhododendron," cried the gardener, "it will be ruined!"

"I think you should be more worried about your mother," said Maedhros. Elwing was suspended upside down by her petticoats in the rhododendron's highest branches, and she had apparently fainted.

"Can you reach to get her down?" Maglor asked Maedhros, "I'm not tall enough, but you might be." Maedhros stretched up towards Elwing and lifted her down. He put her on the grass and all the brothers gathered around. The gardener went over to the rhododendron to inspect it for signs of damage.

"What happened?" enquired Caranthir.

"She jumped," said Maglor, "but she forgot to change into a bird first."

"That wasn't very sensible," said Celegorm, "even I wouldn't do that."

Námo arrived in a flash of light, shortly followed by Ulmo, who reared up out of the goldfish pond. "What a to-do, what a terrible mess!" said Ulmo, hopping soggily from one giant foot to the other and back again.

"No more Kinslaying, I said, and you have defied me!" roared Námo, thoroughly infuriated because his afternoon routine had been disrupted by Fëanorians yet again. He pointed at Elwing's motionless form, still lying on the grass. "I expected better of you than this Kanafinwë Makalaurë; you are supposed to be the most reasonable of the sons of Fëanor!"

"Káno? Reasonable?" chuckled Curufin, "Not this side of the Breaking of the World. He is worse that Father if you get between him and his harp!"

"Do be quiet Námo, you are giving me a headache," grumbled Ulmo, "besides, this is not an actual Kinslaying. Elwing is still alive, and it was my fault that she fell. It is my turn to keep an eye on Fëanor; Elwing usually only wants to turn into a sea-gull when Eärendil is nearby. He is not due back for another week."

"I know that she is not dead," said Námo, "because if she was dead her Fëa would be in my halls, which it is not. Perhaps I should have said 'attempted Kinslaying'. I have sent for Manwë and he will deal with the miscreants."

Manwë himself, of course, did not bother to attend the scene of crime personally. Varda sent Thorondor, Manwë's chief eagle, accompanied by a giant swan which was towing Vingilot rapidly towards the harbour. Eärendil disembarked and hurried towards his wife. He pushed Amrod and Amras out of the way and made sure that Elwing was breathing before he noticed that his guests included the sons of Fëanor.

"Oh, thank the Valar!" cried Eärendil, "you have come to claim the damned jewel at last. For twelve thousand years and more I have been doomed to sail the skies with your Father's Silmaril bound to my brow. If you would relieve me of my burden you will have my eternal gratitude." He held the Silmaril out to Maedhros, who touched it carefully with his restored right hand.

It did not burn him. He picked it up and offered it to his brothers. "Do any of you want to deal with it?" None of them replied, but they all stepped back a pace. "I shall take that to mean no."

"Should you not take it to Fëanaro?" asked Eärendil.

"If you are suggesting we should let our father within a thousand miles of a Silmaril then your years of sailing in the void have addled your wits," said Curufin, "We need to find a safe place for it where he cannot see it or detect it in any way."

"If he can't see it, he forgets about it," added Celegorm, "he only mentioned it five times while we were in Mandos."

"We will put the Silmaril in this box," said Maedhros, taking a small Mithril container out of his pocket, "and Thorondor can take it to Manwë on the summit of Taniquetil. Father would never climb up there."

Why not?" asked Caranthir, "Father is rather partial to mountain-climbing. He would not be daunted by the tallest mountain in Arda; he might even consider it a challenge."

"It is not the height; it is Manwë that he cannot abide," said Maedhros. "My lord Námo, will you, as the Judge of the Valar, accept this scheme?"

"I shall consider it," said Námo, "but I must consult with Manwë first."

"Stop talking nonsense," said Ulmo, "you have never consulted Manwë about anything in the entire history of Arda. You only say that so you don't have to take responsibility when one of your judgements goes wrong. You tell him what to do, and he agrees so that you go away and stop bothering him."

"Hush," said Námo, "no one is supposed to know that."

"Too late," said Curufin, "we know now and if you do not agree to our plan, we shall tell all the elves, the other Valar and the Maiar that you do not follow the proper procedures that you yourself instituted. All I have to do is mention it to Olórin, and all Valinor will have heard by the end of a week."

"I am sure you do not need to blackmail the Doomsman," said Maedhros, "Námo does not want our father back in his halls any more than Father wants to be there." Maedhros smiled at Námo, but it was the smile he had worn in the First Age while slaughtering orcs and Balrogs.

"When you put it like that," said Námo, "I am rather inclined to agree. Manwë would not notice an extra box on a shelf somewhere, but I must tell Varda or she will get a terrible shock when she dusts her ornaments."

Maedhros put the Silmaril in the box and locked it. He put the key back into his pocket and handed the box to Thorondor, who took off and flew away southward.

While this exchange was taking place Eärendil had noticed the gardener still inspecting the rhododendron. "Son," he called, "I hope you have treated our visitors with courtesy and respect. Did you or your mother ask them to stay for dinner?"

The gardener hung his head. "No Father," he said, "When Mother fell into my poor shrub I quite forgot, but I did give them tea and cake."

Eärendil turned to the seven elves and two Valar who were cluttering up his usually tidy garden. "I would be honoured if you would join my family and me for our repast this eve."

"Thank you my boy, but not today," said Ulmo, "I must return to my duties; it is still my turn to watch Fëanor."

"And I can afford no more time away from my halls," said Námo. Ulmo snorted and looked as if he was about to make a disparaging remark, but then he appeared to think the better of it.

"We will accept your most generous invitation," said Maedhros, "my brothers and I have not eaten a proper dinner since Tyelkormo and Ambarussa caught a deer last week." Queen Eärwen had refused to give them any lembas, so their staple diet was a substance that Maglor called 'ship's biscuit'. It was rather tough, but Maglor said they should be grateful it was not infested with weevils. Maedhros wondered if Eärendil, as a sailor and half-Man, would be interested enough in the ship's biscuit to exchange it for some lembas.

"Oh, excellent," said Eärendil cheerfully, "my son and I shall begin cooking at once. Will you ensure that my wife is brought inside?"

"Certainly," said Maedhros, "I would like to apologise to her for giving her such a fright earlier."

"Do not blame yourself for that," said Eärendil, "She has been terrified of you for these last five ages."

"Perhaps she was justified," said Maedhros, "our last meeting was not auspicious, but I would not have killed her if she had given me the Silmaril. There was no need for her to jump from her tower either at the Havens of Sirion or today, although it was fortuitous that she did on both occasions. If she had not jumped in Sirion you would never have reached Aman to ask the aid of the Valar, and if she had not been afraid of us today you would still be sailing through the sky with that dratted jewel strapped to your head."

"Indeed," Eärendil agreed enthusiastically.

The meal was remarkably successful: All the sons of Fëanor were on their best behaviour and Elwing was so delighted to hear that Eärendil would no longer be sailing the void that she would not have objected to Morgoth himself as a dinner-guest. The brothers departed immediately after the meal, but not before issuing an invitation to Eärendil, Elwing and their son to visit them in Tirion. "No one will believe that we did not kill you now you do not sail the sky with the Silmaril," said Maedhros.

"Including our father," added Maglor, "if you do not come to Tirion and prove that you are alive."

Maedhros did not remember the letter until he and his brothers had made camp for the night. He decided its contents were now irrelevant, and he surreptitiously put it on the fire.

A month later the Sons of Fëanor arrived back in Tirion. Fëanor was in one of his workshops with a small pile of fine black powder on the bench in front of him. "We have reclaimed the Silmaril, Father," announced Curufin, who as Fëanor's favourite son had been elected to be the messenger, "Nelyo held it in his hand."

"Oh, er, yes, the Silmaril; I remember," said Fëanor, "well done my sons. I am proud of you all." He paused for a moment, thinking how nice it was to have his family around him at this important moment. "Come and take a look at this."

What is it Father?" Curufin asked, "Is it a new type of rock?"

"It is much better than that," said Fëanor. He touched a burning candle to the black power, which exploded loudly. Pausing again for dramatic effect, he glanced around at his sons, seeing the shocked expressions on their faces. "I believe I have perfected the formula for the substance Káno told me about; the one that Men call 'gunpowder'."


	6. Manwë

_Disclaimer: __This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work. _

**Interlude 3: Manwë**

At the summit of Taniquetil in his halls on Oiolossë, Manwë was calmly watching the world below him. Beneath the eternal beauty of the everlasting snow Valinor was as peaceful as ever, apart from a puff of black smoke over Tirion - Fëanor's workshop again, he supposed. He ignored it, because it was Oromë's turn to keep an eye on Fëanor. No doubt he would hear about it later if it was anything serious.

Middle-earth, of course, was not peaceful and sometimes even he had trouble seeing through the polluted air. Manwë was glad that it was no longer his responsibility. It was bad enough making sure that the elves were happy and not plotting a new rebellion, let alone trying to sort out the humans too. All the Valar were delighted when Eru told them at the beginning of the Fourth Age he was going to look after Middle-earth personally, although not quite so delighted when they were reprimanded for not dealing with Sauron themselves, and losing four other Maiar as a result. There was no point explaining to Eru that non-intervention was the best policy to avoid drowning any more of Middle-earth under the sea, which always seemed to happen when the Valar attempted to deal with a rogue Ainu.

Manwë had tried very hard not to say 'I told you so' to the One when Eru himself resorted to a flood at the end of the Fourth Age; a flood that dwarfed even the drowning of Númenor, and Beleriand before that.

Varda was dusting her ornaments on the mantelpiece, singing softly to herself. Manwë never understood why she bothered with dusting - after all, the dust only settled again almost immediately - but he supposed that it kept her amused now the stars were taking care of themselves. He smiled at his wife, who was holding a small Mithril box which had elaborate designs etched on its lid. He thought it was a new piece - he certainly couldn't remember seeing it before. She put it back down on the shelf and sat beside him. Manwë approved of that - he could always see better when Varda was there.


	7. Tirion

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work.

**Chapter 4: Tirion**

The sons of Fëanor were not impressed with their father's demonstration of 'gunpowder'. It was noisy, dirty and inelegant. Celegorm's usually blond hair was now black at the edges from the explosion. He knew he should have realised that something was going on as soon as he noticed his father's missing eyebrows.

"Fëanor!" boomed an excessively loud voice next to Celegorm's left ear, and a moment later Oromë, his favourite Vala before the Darkening of Valinor, appeared.

"Good day Oromë," he said "how are you?"

"What, what?" said Oromë, looking round in surprise. "Oh, it's you," he growled. Oromë had still not forgiven Celegorm for getting Huan killed in Middle-earth. "Where's your father?"

"Right there," said Celegorm, pointing at Fëanor who was no more than three feet away.

Oromë peered at Fëanor, then turned back to Celegorm. "That is not Fëanáro," he objected, "Fëanáro has pale skin."

"He got a bit dirty," said Celegorm.

Oromë looked at Fëanor even more closely, eye to eye, and this was enough to make Fëanor finally acknowledge the Vala's presence. "What do you want now?" he snapped.

"He sounds like Fëanáro," said Oromë, still addressing Celegorm.

Caranthir picked up a bowl of water and quickly emptied it over Fëanor's head before any of his brothers could stop him. They often ruined his clever plans. "Now will you believe that he is Fëanáro?" he asked.

"He is closer to the right colour now," said Oromë.

"You really must learn to control your temper Morifinwë," said Fëanor, sounding disturbingly calm. "I understand that you are upset, but there is no need for such childish pranks. You are more than old enough to discuss your problems rationally." Caranthir looked suspiciously at his father, anticipating an outburst, but Fëanor had turned his attention to Oromë. "Did you realise that your left shoulder is about half an inch higher than your right?" he queried, "It makes your profile look most peculiar."

"What, what?" cried Oromë, completely forgetting why he was in Fëanor's workshop. He vanished, presumably to look for a mirror.

While Fëanor still sat grinning happily at the blackened part of his workbench, Maedhros took advantage of his father's distracted state, and signalled for his brothers to leave the room. They reassembled in Maglor's harp room, where the giant harp he had left behind thirteen thousand years before still sat, looking much the same as it always had. Once they were all sprawled on the floor - except Maglor, who sat in the only chair, next to the harp - Maedhros opened the discussion. "Something is wrong with Father," he said, "he must be working on more than just gunpowder."

"I agree," said Curufin, "Father only stays that calm when he has his mind on a major project. Do you remember when he was working on the Silmarils?"

"I do not believe I could forget," said Maglor, "I broke all the best crockery that Mother made before she left when I tripped over Tyelkormo's dog, and all Father said was 'Never mind my boy, it was getting a bit old and faded.' I was terrified for ages that he was going to break my harp in retribution." Maglor patted his harp lovingly.

"Wasn't that when you nearly married Írissë, Turko?" asked Amrod.

Celegorm shuddered, "No," he said, "that was while Father was making the Elessar." He decided to change the subject, as he did not like to be reminded of either of his two failed romances. What Aredhel had seen in the Dark Elf was quite beyond him, and he did not want to contemplate why Lúthien had married that peculiar mortal. "I always wondered what happened to the Elessar. Were you wearing it when you jumped into that fiery chasm, Nelyo?"

"I gave it to Findekáno," said Maedhros, "but he does not have it now. He told me Artanis took it when he died and she gave it to her mortal grandson-in-law. I think Findekáno muttered something about grave-robbing, but I didn't quite catch what he said."

"Why would Artanis do that?" asked Amras.

"How could I know?" said Maedhros, "I believe Artanis went slightly mad in Middle-earth. Findaráto said she fell in love with a dwarf, gave it some of her hair and persuaded the Valar to let it into Valinor."

"I heard the same story from Telperinquar," said Curufin, "although I didn't believe him. I thought he was trying to be rude about Artanis because she married that Teleporno fellow instead of him, but if Findaráto told you, it must be true." He was still very fond of his son, even though Celebrimbor had disowned him during the First Age. Celebrimbor's own coup in Eregion had made him much more sympathetic towards his father, and his stay in the Halls of Mandos had allowed them to achieve a tolerable understanding. Curufin was glad they were back on speaking terms.

Celegorm chuckled, "Findaráto was always hopeless at lying."

"We were supposed to be talking about why Father did not shout at me for throwing water over his face," said Caranthir.

"No we were not," objected Curufin, "we were trying to work out what Father is really doing, although I think we should let him get on with it. Whatever it is, it cannot be worse than the Silmarils."

"How much do you want to bet on that?" asked Maglor, "I saw many worse things in Middle-earth before I died, and those were created by Men, not the greatest Noldo who ever lived."

"Did you tell Father about them as well as the gunpowder?" said Maedhros.

"Yes, but I didn't think he would ever get out of Mandos," said Maglor, looking very apologetic.

"It's too late now, I suppose," said Maedhros, "we shall have to find a way to distract Father."

"We could tell him that Manwë has the Silmaril," suggested Amrod.

"No," said Maedhros, "we should save that for a last resort. I don't want to participate in a second rebellion if I can avoid it."

"Chicken," said Caranthir. Maedhros scowled at him.

"Perhaps we could ask Mother to speak with Father." said Amras, "She used to be able to influence him; maybe she still can."

"We will not speak to the woman who was our father's wife," said Curufin angrily, "she is a foul traitor."

"Don't be ridiculous, Kurvo," said Maglor, "all that was more than thirteen thousand years ago. It's time for you to move on. You could start by not picking fights with people who use your mother-name. You might even call me 'Makalaurë'; you know I have always preferred it."

"I refuse to use the names given to us by that woman, and if any of you try to get her to speak with Father, I shall kill you."

"Ha!" said Caranthir, "I'd like to see you try!"

"But I would not," said Maedhros firmly, "in our previous lives we did not kill any blood relations and we will not start now. However, Kurvo is right. Mother would only antagonise Father; she always did, as far back as I can remember, so it would be a very bad idea for her to find out what Father is doing. It would only make him more determined, like when she told him it was impossible to capture the light of the Two Trees."

"Good point," said Celegorm, feeling remarkably pleased that he had, so far, kept his temper during the discussion. "I don't understand why Father married Mother in the first place. They were always arguing, even while they were still living together."

"Are you suggesting that there is something wrong with arguing with your spouse?" demanded Caranthir. Due to being thwarted in three potential fights already he was rather on edge.

"Only if it happens all the time," said Celegorm, "and you can't tell me that you were always arguing with your wife, Moryo, because you weren't. She did exactly as you told her until we swore the Oath. Even then she would have gone to Middle-earth with you if you hadn't told her that helping Father get the Silmarils back was more important to you than she was."

"I did not say that!" cried Caranthir.

"Yes you did," said Maedhros, "we were all there to hear you. You were rather rude to your poor wife, but at least you weren't as bad as Kurvo."

"You would have done exactly the same," protested Curufin, "if your wife had called you..."

"I dare say I would, if I had a wife." Maedhros quickly interrupted, not wanting to hear the epithets Curufin's wife had used again - the first time, thirteen millennia earlier, had been bad enough.

"Mother liked fighting with Father," said Maglor, "she told me so once. It was when Father stopped arguing and shut himself away in his workshop with the Silmarils that she couldn't stand him anymore." He plucked one of the strings of his harp to emphasize his point, but it broke, narrowly missing Amras's eye and scratching Amrod's arm.

Amrod winced, but chose to refrain from vengeance against the offending instrument because Maglor was already looking furious. "I told you the strings would be brittle after all this time," he said, rapidly moving back out of range of any further attack.

"I think we should get Telperinquar to talk to Father," said Maedhros, "he was always fond of him."

"I'm sure that my son would be happy to," said Curufin, "but Father has vowed that he will not see Telperinquar because of the Incident with the Rings. It is dreadfully unfair, because you accidentally associated with a Dark Lord too, Nelyo, and Father doesn't seem to mind that."

"The circumstances were entirely different," said Maedhros, "I was Moringotto's prisoner, not his friend, and I certainly didn't make any Rings of Power for him."

"Yes, but Telperinquar didn't know it was Gorthû," said Curufin.

"You could try telling Father that," said Maedhros.

"I already did," said Curufin gloomily, "but Father just said that he wouldn't believe that any of his kin could fail to recognise Gorthû on sight, let alone take several centuries to work it out."

"What about Elrond?" asked Celegorm.

"What about him?" said Amras, "what does he have to do with Father?"

"Makalaurë adopted him, so technically he is Father's grandchild too," said Celegorm, "and I don't think that Father has an opinion about him yet."

"That isn't a bad idea, Turko," said Maedhros, "a new grandchild might be just the thing to distract Father. Where does Elrond live?"

"On Tol Eressëa," replied Maglor.

"Excellent," said Maedhros, "we shall set out at once."


	8. Nerdanel

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story so far. Please keep reading and reviewing. It won't make me write any faster, but I really appreciate that you've taken the time to tell me that you're enjoying this story - or should I say soap-opera?

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work._

**Interlude 4: Nerdanel**

It hurt more than she thought it would after all these ages, Nerdanel realised, to hear one of her sons refusing to use the names she gave him and his brothers merely because she had been the giver. It had been unwise to listen to their conversation from outside the music room window, but she desperately wanted to catch a glimpse of her children while they could not see her. If she passed Celegorm, Curufin or Caranthir in the street they glared at her and turned their backs. Maglor and the twins pretended she did not exist. Even Maedhros, usually more adept than his brothers at concealing his thoughts, could not keep the expression of contempt off his face when he looked at her. Death and more than twelve thousand years in Mandos's Halls had done nothing to calm the tempers of either her sons or her husband.

She found the whole situation to be rather ironic. Fëanor had deserted her twice, first when he was banished to Formenos and again when he set out for Middle-earth, yet her sons only remembered that she was estranged from their father, perhaps not even knowing that Fëanor had as good as driven her away. Most of his love and attention had been given to the Silmarils for the final half-age of his life, and what little he could spare was devoted to the forging of swords. He had not noticed whether she was there or not, so when she went to stay with Indis, rather than accompany him to Formenos, she assumed that he would not miss her. She had been wrong; although Fëanor no longer cared for her as he once did, he did not want her to be happy without him, and he had turned their sons against her.


	9. Eressëa

**Chapter 5: Eressëa**

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work._

"But Findekáno, I don't like our half-cousins."

"That is not my problem, Turukáno. Father and Uncle Arafinwë have asked us to keep an eye on them, so we shall. Be glad that we do not have to watch Uncle Fëanáro too."

"So it's a case of 'keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer'?" asked Turgon.

"Our half-cousins are not our enemies," said Fingon, "they have been my friends since before you were born."

"Especially when they were burning the ships, I suppose."

"Maitimo did not burn the ships," protested Fingon.

"The other six did," said Turgon, "and surely you were never friends with Carnistir?"

"Not close friends, perhaps," admitted Fingon, "but we get along well enough."

"Bah!" said Turgon, "you were always too close to our half-uncle's sons. They already got you killed once!"

"To be strictly fair, Turukáno, that was my fault for starting the battle before their armies arrived."

"But whose idea was the battle in the first place?"

"That isn't the point," said Fingon, "I agreed with all Maitimo's plans; if I had followed them we might have won. In fact I am relieved that he did not hold me personally responsible for our failure."

"He couldn't do that," said Turgon, "because you were already dead!"

"He could have done, in Mandos. I seem to recall that when you arrived in the Halls of Waiting Father was rather upset with you for dying in Gondolin, and letting the High Kingship pass to Uncle Arafinwë's great-grandson."

"That was completely different. Father had every right to chastise me, whereas Maitimo..."

"Drop the subject now, or I shall set you to watch Uncle Fëanáro after all."

"Very well," said Turgon sulkily.

They were approaching Fëanor's property, which was surrounded by a large stone wall set with occasional diamond and emeralds. The gate was on the other side, some half a mile away, so Fingon and Turgon climbed the wall with the help of a sturdy mallorn tree that had been growing there since before the city was built. Fingon vaguely remembered climbing that tree in his childhood, some sixteen thousand years before, whenever he had wanted to visit his cousins without their parents being informed of the event. The house was quite close to the wall at that point, but it was hidden from view by a small copse where many of Celegorm's favourite species of bird lived. They made their way around the woodland and walked in through the conservatory door. "Hello!" called Fingon, "Is anybody at home?"

"We're in the kitchen," came the reply. Fingon and Turgon walked down the corridor and went into the kitchen, where all seven of Fëanor's sons were attempting to prepare large quantities of various items of food.

"Good afternoon Findekáno, Turukáno," said Maedhros, "we were just about to eat lunch. Will you join us?"

"I'd love to," said Fingon, smiling broadly at the thought of a meal.

"If I must," said Turgon.

"You were lucky to find us here," observed Maedhros, "we were going to set out for Tol Eressëa this morning, but Ambarussa refused to go anywhere without eating some proper food first."

"Why are you going to Eressëa?" asked Turgon.

"To visit Elrond," replied Maglor, as if that was the only reason anyone ever visited the Lonely Isle.

"I've never met Elrond," said Fingon, "but I have heard a lot about him."

"How is it that you have never met my great-grandson?" enquired Turgon in astonishment, "He has been living here for more than six thousand years!"

"Perhaps he has been avoiding me," said Fingon, "though I can't think why he would."

"You should come to Eressëa with us," said Maedhros, "and you too, Turukáno. I'm sure Elrond will be delighted to see you both."

"That's an excellent idea, Maitimo," said Fingon happily, "don't you agree Turukáno?"

"I suppose so," said Turgon, "it will be easier to keep an eye on them if we are actually with them."

"What's that?" asked Curufin suspiciously, "Why are you keeping an eye on us?"

"Because Father asked us to," said Fingon, "I don't think that he trusts you."

"Well at least you told us," said Celegorm, "those dratted Valar keep popping in whenever anything even slightly out of the ordinary happens. We know that they are watching us, but they won't admit it."

"I do not mind if Findekáno comes with us," said Caranthir, "but must he bring Turukáno with him?"

"Moryo, you must not say things like that," said Maedhros, "you will make Turukáno think that you do not like him."

"But I do not," said Caranthir, "I have disliked him since he insulted Father after we swore the Oath."

"Ah," said Maedhros, "I had forgotten that. Turukáno, would you excuse us for a moment please?" Maedhros whispered something to Caranthir, whose complexion grew even more ruddy than its normal shade.

"Cousin Turukáno," Caranthir began, "I apologise unreservedly to you for my behaviour towards you. You are entitled to hold any opinion of my father that you choose. I humbly beg your forgiveness."

"Humph," said Turgon, realising that he had once again been outmanoeuvred by the Fëanorians. He stuffed a large chunk of cheese into his mouth to avoid having to make a further response.

Eventually, after eating a hearty lunch and packing the leftovers into rucksacks, the expanded company set off. It was a half day walk to the coast and they set up camp for the night by the river, not far from the beach. Early the next morning Maedhros and Maglor climbed down the cliff to look for the ferry that was supposed to run daily across the Bay of Eldamar to Tol Eressëa. Fortunately the jetty was only a short distance around the bay, because the boat was preparing to depart. Maglor called out to the others, and they hurried down to the beach. The only other passengers were two goats and a horse, so there was plenty of room to sit well away from the Telerin crew, who eyed all Noldor with suspicion.

As soon as the boat left the tiny harbour Ossë realised who was aboard, and he made the sea as rough as he possibly could. The ferry nearly capsized on several occasions. One of the Teleri was washed overboard by one wave, then washed back onto the deck by the next when Uinen noticed her husband's mistake. The crossing took several hours longer than they anticipated, and they did not reach the island until after sunset. They spent the night at a small inn run by a Sinda named Lindir, who told them tales of his adventures in Middle-earth during the Third Age. Maglor corrected him several times on historical and geographical details, as he seemed inclined to hyperbole. "Hobbits," said Maglor, "were rarely more than four feet tall, and they lived in a relatively small region of Eriador."

They finally arrived at Elrond's house in Kortirion in the middle of the afternoon on the following day. Turgon bounced up to the front door and rang the bell. Celebrían answered the door. "Good day Cousin Turgon," she said politely, "do come in." Then she noticed the Fëanorians and Fingon waiting at the bottom of the steps. "Come on up, all of you, make yourselves at home." she ushered them all into the parlour. "Elrond dear," she called, "some of our relations from the mainland have come to visit."

"Have they my love?" Elrond called back, "Which ones?"

"Your great-grandfather," she said, "your great-great-uncle and some cousins. I'm just going to make a pot of tea and fetch my mother in from the garden."

Fingon suddenly looked panicky. "Your mother? Do you mean my cousin Artanis?"

"She's the only mother I have," said Celebrían as she left the room.

"Nelyo, Kurvo, you must hide me at once!" cried Fingon, "Keep Artanis away from me!"

"Don't be so ridiculous Findekáno," snapped Turgon, "Artanis won't hurt you. She promised not to steal anything else from you if you die again."

"It isn't that," said Fingon, "it's the mirror."

"Oh, that," said Turgon dismissively, "it's only a bowl of water, even if she does claim that it shows you the future."

"Only a bowl of water?" said Fingon, "I wish it was. Artanis really doesn't give you much choice about whether to look or not, and she always has the horrid thing with her. She seems to think that looking into it will make me like her better, but I don't see things that might happen, just things that have already happened. Last time I saw my own death three times in a row, and then Glaurung taunting me."

They all looked sympathetically at Fingon; none of them would choose to see their own demise again even once, let alone three times, and the Fire-drake was a memory best avoided. Turgon put an arm around his brother's shoulders. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't know. I thought it was all one of Artanis's tricks, like when she pretends to see your inner thoughts."

"This mirror could be useful," said Curufin, "do you suppose it could show us what Father is really doing?"

"Father wouldn't like us to use Cousin Artanis to spy on him," said Caranthir, "he still has not forgiven her for refusing to give him three strands of her hair."

"Since when did you care if Father approves of our methods?" asked Celegorm.

"I don't," said Caranthir, "I just thought you should know."

"It probably wouldn't hurt to try this mirror," said Maedhros, "I can cope with seeing my death again if necessary."

"But what if it showed you Thangorodrim?" asked Fingon.

"I would prefer not to re-experience any of my time in Angband," said Maedhros.

"Then I have a better idea," said Fingon, "we can ask Artanis to look in the mirror for us. I'm sure she would be only too happy to thwart your father's latest scheme."

Elrond wandered absently into the room, paying no attention to his guests. He sat down on a very old and uncomfortable looking chair, then glanced around. "You're looking very well, Elrond," said Maglor. Elrond jumped out of his chair, and dashed out of the room again, letting his feelings get the better of him for once. Maglor quickly got up and followed him.

"It must be an inherited trait," said Amrod.

"What is?" asked Turgon.

"Running out of the room at the sight of us," said Amras, "his mother did it too - twice. You don't think that Elrond will jump off the top of a tower, do you Ambarussa?"

"No," said Amrod, "this house doesn't have a tower. He might jump off the roof. What do you think Ambarussa?"

"I hope he won't," said Amras, "there aren't any rhododendrons here to catch him.


	10. Elrond

Response to reviewers:

theycallmemary: I'm sorry about the confusion - it should get better once they are all speaking Sindarin rather than Quenya.

Depprium: Gandalf will almost certainly be making an appearance sooner or later, but in the timeline of this story (approximately present day) Frodo has been dead for about 6000 years, so unfortunately they won't be able to visit him!

Emperor K. Rool: Tolkien's final decision on Gil-galad's parentage was to make him the son of Orodreth, who in turn became the son of Angrod, making G-g Finarfin's great-grandson. In HoME 12 Christopher Tolkien states that "Much closer analysis of the admittedly complex material than I had made twenty years ago makes it clear that Gil-galad as the son of Fingon was an ephemeral idea."

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work. Nor is the author being paid to promote HoME._

**Interlude 5: Elrond**

Elrond was indeed on the roof, but jumping off it was the last thing on his mind. It was his favourite place to go when he wanted to be alone to think. He knew that his foster-father had been released from the Halls of Mandos, and they had exchanged several letters, but he had not expected to find Maglor sitting in his living room. When Celebrían announced that his great-grandfather and great-great-uncle were visiting he had thought she meant Celeborn and Galathil, who regularly came to stay. It seemed to amuse her to refer to their relations by as many different relationships as she could think of. Celebrían's father was also her second cousin once removed, Elrond's great-great-uncle and his second cousin twice removed.

Elrond had some vague memories of his biological father, but Maglor was the one who had been there while he was growing up, and was the only father Elrond had really known, because even while he still lived in the Havens of Sirion, Eärendil was away at sea almost all the time. He had found it easy to forgive Maglor for abandoning him to fulfil his oath, but he still could not accept what Elwing has done. She chose the Silmaril over her children and her people, when if she had simply handed the jewel over to Maglor or Maedhros when they asked for it, the people of Sirion would not have died, and Elrond would have had his mother.

Maglor stepped out onto the roof behind Elrond, taking care not to startle him. Elrond turned around. "I am glad to see you, Father," he said, and embraced him.


	11. Kortirion

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work._

**Chapter 6: Kortirion**

"I am very disappointed, Celebrían, to see that you are using these newfangled teabags," Galadriel's voice floated in from the kitchen, "tea just doesn't taste like it used to do in my day." A door opened and closed again, and they heard two sets of footfalls in the corridor.

Fingon panicked and hid behind the sofa. Orcs he could cope with, and Balrogs - as long as only one Balrog attacked him at a time - but Galadriel was too much to deal with. She had been such a sweet child during the Ages of the Trees, adored by all her brothers and cousins, although Aredhel had been more popular with their half-cousins. He did not want to contemplate what might have happened to turn her into the monster who was about to enter the room, but he suspected that it might have something to do with Melian the Maia, Galadriel's great-aunt by marriage.

Galadriel herself stepped through the doorway, followed by Celebrían, and looked imperiously around the room. "Good afternoon Turgon," she said, "and sons of Fëanor." Without giving them time to reply, she swept over to the sofa and peered behind it. "Good afternoon Fingon, what are you doing behind the sofa?"

"I, er, dropped one of my gold hair clips," said Fingon, "it must be down here somewhere."

"Would you like to use my mirror to see where it fell?" asked Galadriel, "all you need to do is look a few minutes into the past, and watch where it went."

"No, no, it's quite alright," said Fingon, "I've found it now!" he quickly pulled a clip out of one of the braids on the side of his hair furthest away from Galadriel, and held it up for her inspection.

"Well the next time you lose something, I'll be more than happy to let you use my mirror to find it."

Galadriel seemed to be satisfied and sat down, far enough away that she did not hear his muttered comment of "Elfstone!"

"I know why you are here," Galadriel said to Maedhros, "for it is in my mind too."

"Really, cousin?" said Maedhros in astonishment, "You know what my father is making now?"

"Of course I do not," said Galadriel, "do you mean to say that you are not here to ask for my support in a campaign to make Rúmil cut down his leylandii hedge?"

"I cannot say that it was my top priority," said Maedhros, "I did not even know that Rúmil had a hedge. He didn't before we left Valinor."

"He has a hedge now," said Turgon, "and it is dreadful. I do not know how you have managed to miss it. The last time I looked it was at least three hundred feet high."

"We did see it," said Celegorm, "it was where all the birds were complaining about having to fly over it."

"I remember," said Curufin, "but I assumed that it was one of Yavanna's projects that went a bit wrong, like when she stood in our garden that time, pretending to be a tree, and Father tried to chop her down to make charcoal for his forge."

"The hedge has nothing to do with Yavanna," said Galadriel, "Rúmil says it is to stop artists painting pictures of him sleeping by his swimming pool."

"But why would anyone want a picture of Rúmil?" asked Caranthir.

"It's because of his book about the Fall of the Noldor," said Fingon, "Father tried to get it banned because he said it made him look bad, but that only made the book more popular. It is worse than Pengolodh's book - at least he made me sound heroic as well as idiotic and power-mad."

"We agreed not to talk about Pengolodh," said Turgon, "he talked to me for hours about Gondolin, but then he wrote more about Maeglin than about my hidden city."

"The point," said Galadriel, "is that Rúmil now thinks he is a celebrity, and people will want pictures of him."

"You have a picture of him, Mother," said Celebrían, "I've seen it."

"I use it to hone my archery skills," said Galadriel, "because I got even less of a mention than Amrod and Amras."

"Are we in this book?" asked Amrod.

"May we see it?" asked Amras.

"I don't think that would be a very good idea," said Turgon, "I do not feel like mopping up after another one of your Kinslayings."

"While we are on the subject of books," said Celegorm, "do you happen to know exactly where the author of 'A Comprehensive Guide to the Ten Most Feared Elves in the History of Arda' lives? It said in the book that he has a house somewhere in Kortirion."

"Why yes," said Celebrían, "he lives in this road, two houses along on the same side. It's the green house with the gold door and the silver sundial on the front lawn."

"Thank you," said Celegorm. Curufin eyed him suspiciously.

"If you are not here about Rúmil's hedge," said Galadriel, "what are you doing on Tol Eressëa?"

"We came to ask Elrond to come to Tirion with us and distract Father," said Caranthir, "since he is technically Father's grandson by adoption."

"Distract him from what?" asked Galadriel.

"We do not know," said Maedhros, "as I have already told you. Maglor has gone to talk to Elrond, and we hope that he will be successful, but if it is not we will need a second plan. Fingon and Turgon mentioned your mirror..."

"I will not let a son of Fëanor look into my mirror!" cried Galadriel, "I do not wish to be responsible for the chaos you would cause if you saw the future!"

"That is not fair," said Curufin, "you encourage Fingon to look, and he's a Kinslayer too."

"But the Kinslaying was not his idea," said Galadriel, "he only joined in because he saw you fighting."

"So did Maedhros," said Fingon indignantly, "I wasn't the only one who got understandably and justifiably upset because the Teleri were killing our people!"

"We didn't start it," said Amrod, "all we were trying to do was take the ships. We did not want to fight them, but they started shooting arrows at us and pushing us into the water, so we had to fight back."

"I suppose you are going to tell me that you didn't start the second or third Kinslayings either," said Galadriel.

"Well we didn't," said Amras, sounding surprised at Galadriel's suggestion.

"Nevertheless I will not let you look into my mirror."

"We do not need to look," said Maedhros, "if you would look for us. Father was working on an explosive powder until a few days ago, but we fear that he has another project too, and that it might be worse."

While Galadriel ranted about Fëanor's numerous and varied follies, Celegorm slipped away, and walked along the road to the green and gold house. A very pretty dark-haired lady was sunbathing in the garden. "Are you here to see Gildor?" she asked.

"That's right," said Celegorm, "is he at home?"

"He'll be in his study. Go on in, third door on the right."

Celegorm followed her instructions, and knocked on the door, which he was glad to see was made of wood, not solid gold like the front door. "Come in," said a voice from inside the room. Celegorm opened the door and went in. "Are you Gildor Inglorion?" he asked the Elf who was seated behind a large mahogany desk.

"I am indeed," said Gildor, "would you like me to sign your copy of my book? Who should I make it out to?"

Celegorm reached across the desk and easily plucked Gildor out of his chair by the collar of his tunic. "I am Turkafinwë Tyelkormo," he said, "and I do not own a copy of your travesty of a book. I am here to convince you to produce a second edition, in which I am the third most feared Elf in the history of Arda. I am sure you will agree that I am much more frightening than my brother Kurufinwë." Gildor squeaked in reply. "What did you say?" asked Celegorm. Gildor squeaked again, and pointed to his neck. "Oh, I see, you can't breathe." Celegorm put him down, and he clutched at his throat, gasping for air.

"Yes, you're much scarier," panted Gildor, "I'll change it at once. Are you quite sure that you want to settle for third place?"

Celegorm considered this for a moment, but he was in no doubt that his father was far more fearsome than he could ever hope to be, and Maedhros could intimidate anyone - even him - if he so chose. "Third place will be fine," he said, and left Gildor scribbling away madly.

Back at Elrond's house no one had noticed Celegorm's absence because they were all too busy watching Galadriel use her mirror. "Well?" said Curufin, "What do you see?"

"I see what might come to pass if you turn aside to prevent it," said Galadriel.

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Amras, "Turn aside from what, exactly?"

"The task that has been appointed to you," said Galadriel.

"I think she means us," said Turgon to Fingon, "we have been appointed the task of watching our half-cousins. You don't have an appointed task, do you Maedhros?"

"We did sort of appoint ourselves to take Elrond to visit Father," said Maedhros, "would that count?"

"Even the wisest cannot tell," said Galadriel.

"Oh, do stop that, Mother," said Celebrían, "you are upsetting Fingon. You know he doesn't like these cryptic pronouncements of yours."

Fingon smiled warily at Celebrían. "I have to admit they do rather make my head ache."

"I do apologise, Fingon," said Galadriel, "would you like me to spell it out for you in words of one syllable, as I shall no doubt have to do for our half-cousins as well?"

"That's rather rude of you," said Fingon, "just because I am not counted among the wise does not mean that I am stupid." Galadriel and Turgon turned their most sceptical expressions on him. "Don't keep looking at me like that, I am not the one who called his city Gondolin."

"That's below the belt, brother," said Turgon, "How was I supposed to know that my people would mistranslate 'Ondolindë' so abominably?"

"Please just tell us what you saw, Cousin Galadriel," said Maedhros, "and what you would advise us to do about it."

"Do you promise me that you will follow my advice, and not run straight back to Tirion and try to stop Fëanor?" asked Galadriel.

"Very well," said Maedhros, "you have my word."

"You I may rely upon to do as you say you will," said Galadriel, "but what about them?" She pointed at Curufin, Caranthir, Amrod and Amras.

"We are none of us oath breakers," said Maedhros, "and they will do exactly as I tell them." He looked sternly at his brothers, and observed that one was missing. "Where has Celegorm gone?"

"I'm here," said Celegorm, walking back into the room.

"Where have you been?" demanded Maedhros.

"I went to visit a friend," said Celegorm.

"You do not have any friends in Kortirion," said Curufin.

"Yes I do," retorted Celegorm, "I went to see Gildor Inglorion. He has agreed to change the order of his ten most feared Elves slightly. I will now be in third place, behind only Father and Maedhros."

"How did you get him to do that?" asked Curufin.

"We just talked for a while," said Celegorm, " and he said that I am obviously more fearsome than you, so he will change the order for me."

"You are a nuisance, Celegorm," said Maedhros, "now I shall have to go and see this Gildor Inglorion to make sure that you did not do him any permanent damage."

"I am not a nuisance!" yelled Celegorm.

"Yes you are," said Maedhros, "you have caused almost as much trouble as Caranthir..."

"That is not true," said Celegorm, "I didn't annoy Angrod and get Quenya banned from Beleriand!"

"And the twins, combined." finished Maedhros. "Where is Curufin?"

"Call of nature," said Amrod.

"He will insist on drinking four cups of tea," said Amras.

Curufin had in fact taken advantage of the confusion to pay his own visit to Gildor Inglorion. The lady sunbathing on the lawn waved him into the house, surprised that her husband had two Elves wanting books signed in one day.

"Good afternoon, Gildor," said Curufin as he walked into the study, "I am delighted to have this opportunity to meet you at last." He sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk to Gildor.

"Likewise, I'm sure," said Gildor, unfortunately failing to recognise the Elf before him. "How may I help you?" He was only too pleased to have such a courteous visitor who was clearly aware of the niceties of social conduct.

"My name is Kurufinwë, son of Kurufinwë Fëanáro. I am here to discuss your truly fascinating book about me."

A fearful look appeared on Gildor's face, and he shrank back into his chair. "I must warn you that if you attempt to strangle me, as your brother did earlier, I shall be forced to..."

"Did he really throttle you?" said Curufin, grimacing, "How dreadfully unimaginative."


	12. Gildor Inglorion

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work._

**Interlude 6: Gildor Inglorion**

Until the meeting actually occurred, Gildor Inglorion had thought that he would take full advantage of any opportunity to observe Fëanorians at close range by taking copious notes, and asking a multitude of questions that he had prepared for such an occasion. He had dedicated several centuries to studying their exploits, but it was only in his wildest dreams that he had contemplated two of them arriving in his study in one afternoon.

Gildor had gone into exile in Middle-earth with the House of Finarfin, which was always hindmost on the road during the march, whereas the Fëanorians were ever in the vanguard. He was only a child at the time of Fëanor's great speech in Tirion, but he had taken Fëanor's words to heart, and the terrible oath that he and his sons had sworn, with drawn swords glowing red in the lamplight, was as clear in his memory as yesterday.

Of course, he had seen Celegorm and Curufin before, in Nargothrond, but only from a distance, for they had mostly kept themselves to themselves - except when they were convincing Finrod's people to support them. Their words then had been almost as powerful as Fëanor's. Gildor believed at once that the sons of Fëanor alone had the right to possess the Silmarils, and that Beren's quest to recover one for Menegroth, because Thingol desired it in exchange for his daughter, was a great iniquity.

Caranthir, Amrod and Amras he knew only by reputation, but Maedhros and Maglor he had seen after the War of Wrath, when they took the Silmarils from Eönwë's keeping. Gildor had watched them sneak into the camp and boldly challenge the guards, who were foolish enough to resist, and were slain. They emerged from the tent with the Silmarils' casket and stood there, unafraid, waiting for Eönwë to send his forces to stop them. Gildor knew that what they did was wrong, and against the command of the Valar, but he admired them nevertheless.

Gildor had not anticipated that his book would be significant enough to attract the attention of the Fëanorians, and now it had he wasn't sure whether he should be merely quaking with fear, or delighted that his work had been worthy of their notice. When Celegorm had visited him earlier, he had thought he was going to die. Now, looking into Curufin's eyes, he knew he was going to die painfully and soon, so he settled for quaking with fear and decided to leave meditating on the fine quality of his writing until he reached the Halls of Mandos.


	13. The Green House

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work._

**Chapter 7: The Green House**

Had Gildor Inglorion been more familiar with Curufin's range of facial expressions, he would have known that Curufin always smiled when he was about to kill something (or someone), and as long as Curufin continued to look disapproving, he was, in fact, quite safe. "I really do not like throttling as a method of intimidation," said Curufin, "it is so primitive. Did you know that Beren tried to throttle me when I kidnapped Lúthien?"

"Yes, I heard about that," said Gildor faintly.

"And then he stole my knife and my horse," continued Curufin, "I wouldn't have minded so much, but he broke Angrist on Morgoth's crown. Of all the things he could have done with it, he had to go and break it the first time he used it. It was such a terrible waste. He did not truly want the horse either; he must have let it go, because it came to find me at Himring. It was a very good horse - if only I could remember what I called it."

Gildor gathered up all his courage. "You must be here to persuade me to keep you as the third most feared elf in history in the new edition of my book."

"Must I?" said Curufin, annoyed that Gildor had discovered his purpose so easily.

"Why else would you be here?" asked Gildor.

"Perhaps to correct some of the inaccurate details about my life that appeared in your book," said Curufin, and Gildor began to look hopeful, which Curufin found even more annoying than Gildor's observation of the reason for his visit. "But you are correct. I am unquestionably more fearsome than Turkafinwë."

"What... What are you going to do to me?" wailed Gildor.

"I don't intend to do anything to you at all," said Curufin, "unless you change your book."

"What would you do if I did?" asked Gildor.

"Oh, I'm sure I will come up with something appropriate," said Curufin, absently drawing his knife - which looked remarkably similar to Angrist - and spinning it around in one hand. "I can assure you that it will be far more interesting than," he pulled a face again, "throttling."

Gildor cringed further back into his chair.

At that moment Curufin looked out of the window, and saw Maedhros walking up the drive towards Gildor's house. He quickly clipped the knife back onto his belt, and did his best to look innocent, the effect of which terrified Gildor more than ever.

Gildor's wife was shocked to see a third visitor approaching. If their house continued to be so busy, they would have to go and stay with her mother for a while, until Gildor's fans went away and left them alone. "Third door on the right," she said.

Maedhros went in, and could not quite bring himself to be surprised that Curufin was there. "Kurufinwë Atarinkë," he said, provoking a glare from Curufin, "I should have known that even you couldn't spend more than fifteen minutes examining the plumbing in Elrond's bathroom." He looked at Gildor. "And you must be Gildor Inglorion. Are you badly injured? Do you require a healer? I can fetch Elrond if necessary."

"I'm quite alright, truly I am," said Gildor, wondering what crime he had committed to deserve the terrible punishment of having the second and third most feared elves in history both threatening him at the same time. He supposed he should be glad that Fëanor himself was not with them.

"Turko throttled him," said Curufin.

"How very like him," said Maedhros, "although I am disappointed that Tyelkormo has once again resorted to physical threats - I thought he had conquered those urges during our stay in Mandos. What did you do to Gildor, Kurvo?"

"Nothing," said Curufin smugly.

"Oh good," said Maedhros, "I am glad to see that you, at least, have learned self-restraint." He turned to Gildor. "Are you sure you do not want me to get Elrond to take a look at your throat? I do hope that Tyelkormo has not caused you any permanent damage; he will feel very guilty if he has."

Maedhros took a step towards Gildor, and reached out to pat him comfortingly on the shoulder, but it was all too much for Gildor, who hid under his desk, wondering what Maedhros himself was capable of if he considered Curufin's behaviour restrained.

"What a peculiar elf," said Maedhros, "do you suppose that he always acts like this?" He walked around the desk, and looked underneath it, from where Gildor stared back at him. "We will be off now, if you are certain that you are well." Gildor nodded vigorously, hitting his head on the desk above him, and knocked himself out.

"I think he is unconscious," said Curufin, who was looking under the desk from the other side, "What should we do?"

Before they could do anything a great roaring and growling sound filled the room, and Tulkas appeared. He was wrestling with a polar bear, which suddenly seemed to realise that it would find an easier dinner elsewhere, and it loped off out of Gildor's study, somehow managing to find its way out of the house on its first attempt. Fortunately Gildor's wife had given up on sunbathing and had gone to visit some friends, or she would have been highly annoyed by the disturbance.

As the bear charged down the garden, closely followed by Tulkas and not so closely by Maedhros and Curufin, the other five sons of Fëanor, plus Fingon, Turgon, Galadriel, Elrond and Celebrían, who had been startled by the noise, came in through the gate. Upon seeing the bear, but not Tulkas, who was only inches behind it, Celegorm drew one of his knives and threw it so it stabbed the bear straight through its heart. The bear ran on for a few moments, then collapsed at Caranthir's feet, revealing Tulkas behind it.

"You!" bellowed Tulkas, pointing at Caranthir, "You have killed my bear!"

"Did I?" said Caranthir, who, for once, was not in the mood for a fight, but soon would be if Tulkas made any more false allegations against him.

Tulkas turned the bear over, and Celegorm went up to it and pulled his knife out of its heart. "I'll have my knife back now," he said, wiping it clean on the grass, "I've always been fond of it."

"Why did you kill my bear with your brother's knife, Morifinwë?" asked Tulkas.

"When did you stop beating your wife?" said Maglor, who had observed Maedhros signalling to him to create a diversion.

"What's that?" roared Tulkas, "Did you suggest that I would hurt Nessa?"

"No," said Maglor, "it is something that Men say when they are asked a question that has no answer. You have never beaten your wife, therefore you cannot tell me when you stopped. Likewise Carnistir is unable to tell you why he killed the bear with Tyelkormo's knife, because he did not."

"Did not what?" said Tulkas, forgetting to maintain his maximum volume in his confusion.

"Oh, great Eru!" said Turgon, "I apologise for calling you stupid, brother. I had forgotten just how idiotic some of the Valar can be! Tulkas here makes you look like an absolute genius in comparison."

"Kill the bear, of course," said Maglor.

"Then who did?" said Tulkas.

"I did," said Celegorm, who was now bored and offended that Caranthir had almost been given the credit for his kill.

"You!" bellowed Tulkas, now pointing at Celegorm, "You have killed my bear!"

While all this was going on, Maedhros had persuaded Elrond to go and examine Gildor. Gildor was now safely tucked up in his bed, well away from any sons of Fëanor and other disturbances. He decided that this rather more eventful that usual afternoon had been worthwhile, because it proved that he had been correct in his assessment of the fearsomeness of elves all the time, and he could start work on his autobiography instead of preparing a second edition of his first book.

Back in the garden, Celegorm was feeling belligerent. "Yes, I killed your bear. It was very irresponsible of you to bring it to Kortirion in the first place. Polar bears do not like tropical heat, and if I had not stopped it, there is a chance that it would have fatally wounded and perhaps even eaten an elf."

"Oh," said Tulkas, looking slightly embarrassed, "I suppose I should not have brought it with me. It would not be a fair fight if the bear got too hot."

"Why did you bring it here, Tulkas?" asked Galadriel, "You do not usually come to Tol Eressëa."

Maedhros and Curufin exchanged apprehensive glances. They knew from experience, both past and recent, how difficult it was to convince a Vala that they were not responsible for a nearby elf's state of unconsciousness, particularly given that all the Valar were predisposed to suspect the sons of Fëanor of any and all potential crimes.

His attention recalled to his duty, Tulkas whirled around and pointed at Maedhros and Curufin. "You!" he bellowed, "You have killed my bear!"

"I thought we resolved the bear killing incident," said Amras.

"Apparently not," said Amrod, "although I don't see what Nelyo and Kurvo have to do with it."

"Perhaps he thinks they attacked it from behind," said Amras.

"You attacked from behind!" Tulkas shouted, "That is a cowardly thing to do! Moringotto attacks from behind!" he lunged forward and grabbed Maedhros and Curufin by one arm each, and lifted them up to his eye level.

"Oh dear," said Fingon, remembering how unwise it was to accuse a Fëanorian of being in any way like Morgoth, "he should not have done that. I do hate having to deal with Nelyafinwë when he gets angry."

"It is not pleasant," agreed Maglor, "and you were fortunate enough to miss the worst of it at the end of the First Age."

"Fortunate?" said Fingon, "I would not call being killed by Balrogs and trampled into the mud particularly fortunate."

"Perhaps not," said Maglor, "and I could certainly have done with you around to talk Maitimo out of attacking Eönwë's camp."

"With your track record, Findekáno," said Galadriel, "you would probably have helped Maitimo rather than persuading him that attacking an entire army by himself was a bad idea."

Fingon grinned. "It would have depended on how annoyed I was with the Valar for turning up six centuries late."

"Put me down!" yelled Curufin, flailing madly and managing to kick Tulkas's knee. Tulkas winced and tightened his grip.

Maedhros glared at the Vala, and spoke slowly and quietly, but with an undercurrent of pure fury in his voice. "We did not kill your bear. Put us down at once."

"Then what did you do?" asked Tulkas, looking puzzled.

"Nothing!" said Maedhros and Curufin simultaneously.

"If you have not done anything, then I do not need to be here," said Tulkas. He dropped Maedhros and Curufin, which did very little to improve their tempers. "I can go back to wrestling with my bear!" and with that remark, Tulkas disappeared.

"I hope he will not come back when he cannot find the damned bear," said Caranthir, whose feet were still only inches away from the bear's head.

"If he does come back, we shall remind him of exactly why Námo ordered that we should be watched," said Maedhros, smiling, his eyes shining dangerously. Curufin also smiled, but said nothing and inspected his knife for dents.

"There is no danger of that," said Turgon, "Tulkas will have forgotten that he was ever here by now."

"You will no doubt be pleased to learn," said Elrond, "that Gildor is recovering, and I am confident that he does not have a concussion, yet there is one thing I do not understand. Why was he under his desk, Uncle Nelyo?"

"You should ask him," said Maedhros. He walked away from the others, aware that he was still in a foul mood and likely to start insulting his brothers and cousins if he did not put some space between them. Fingon ran after him.

"What shall we do with the bear?" asked Caranthir, "I do not think that we should leave it here."

"We could make a bear-skin rug," said Amrod.

"Father would not like that," said Amras, "he would say that it looked messy."

"You are right," said Amrod, "he would. Perhaps we should burn it."

"Not on Gildor Inglorion's lawn," said Celebrían.


	14. Fingon

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work._

**Escape Interlude 7: Fingon**

As Fingon hurried after Maedhros he contemplated his friends, and how they had changed over the last few ages. Death had a strange effect on many of them. Aegnor had chosen to stay in the Halls of Waiting forever, on account of a mortal female, a decision that was beyond Fingon's understanding. She was dead and gone to wherever mortals went when they died, so it wasn't even as if he could see her by staying dead. It was possible, Fingon thought, to take grief too far, and if you were not careful you might end up as mad as Fëanor after Finwë was murdered, although it was not as if there were any Silmarils involved in Aegnor's case.

Angrod had become very dull since he died, or in fact since he had been reunited with his son Orodreth - who Fingon avoided if he could. It was Orodreth's over-enthusiastic and unsupervised troops who had begun the disaster of the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. In any event, Angrod, Orodreth and his son Gil-galad, (who in Fingon's opinion was one of the stuffiest and most punctilious elves in existence; it was inconceivable how he had survived three thousand five hundred years as High King without putting his entire court into a permanent sleep,) were now refusing to associate with Kinslayers because of the Nargothrond Incident, which was rather silly because Finrod (who it had chiefly affected) had forgiven Celegorm and Curufin long ago.

Finrod was a more interesting companion - when he could get away from his wife, Amarië, but he still retained his old tendency to wander off whenever an activity got exciting. He never hunted anything for long enough to actually catch it, and he often became melancholy because there were no mortals in Valinor for him to keep as vassals.

The Fëanorians too had changed, but now they were closer to the way they had been before they swore their oath, which was definitely a good thing, and they did not seem to have become boring or developed strange new ethics during their stay in Mandos. Life was much more fun, Fingon decided, when there were Fëanorians around.


	15. The Inn

Depprium: Sorry about the strangeness, but I get the same feeling when I read stories in which Gil-galad is the son of Fingon!

lordmarquareion: The thing about Frodo dying is in one of JRRT's letters, so I guess that must have superseded the BoLT version - but there is still the question of Tuor...

fetch-thranduilion: Thanks! Maedhros's interlude is (I think) the tenth.

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work._

**Escape Chapter 8: The Inn**

Maglor, Celegorm, Curufin, Caranthir, Amrod, Amras, Turgon, Galadriel, Elrond and Celebrían were still in Gildor's garden, gathered around the corpse of Tulkas's polar bear.

"We have to do something about this bear," said Turgon, "it would be very impolite to leave it where it is. I'm sure I had laws against leaving dead bears lying around in gardens when I was king of Gondolin - it is so unhygienic."

"Don't worry," said Galadriel, "I shall deal with it." She started to sing, causing Maglor to put his fingers in his ears and howl with pain. The bear lifted off the ground by a few inches, and then exploded, scattering blood, fur, internal organs and bone fragments all over Gildor's garden and its occupants.

"Oops," said Galadriel, "that was not supposed to happen. I was attempting to levitate it"

"I am beginning to see why Fingon tries to avoid her," said Amrod.

"Me too," said Amras, picking a large chunk of liver out of his hair and examining it.

"Don't eat that!" shouted Celegorm, "Polar bear liver is poisonous!"

"I was not intending to eat it," said Amras, "and besides, I know as well as you do that eating any part of a polar bear is most unwise."

"That is an interesting method of removing a bear," said Caranthir, who had been closest to the centre of the explosion. "What do we do now?"

"Pick up all the pieces," said Curufin grumpily. "We can put them on the compost heap."

It was several hours before Gildor's garden was restored to a semblance of respectability, and all ten Elves looked as if they had been involved in a Kinslaying by the time they had finished.

"Let's go back to my house to clean up," said Elrond.

Everyone agreed, and they set off down the road. No-one noticed that Maedhros and Fingon were still missing until late in the evening, when they had all bathed and the visitors had borrowed clean clothes from Elrond.

"Have you seen my brother?" asked Turgon, "I do hope he did not get lost on the way back from Gildor's house."

"He was not with us when Galadriel blew up the bear," said Curufin.

"Fingon went after Maedhros," said Celebrían, "would you like me to go and look for them?"

"No need," said Turgon, "They will have found the local inn by now, and if it is not too far away, they will be on their fifth bottle of wine by now."

"Sixth," said Maglor.

Maglor was right; Maedhros and Fingon had indeed just bought their sixth bottle of wine. They had found Kortirion's only inn several hours before, and discovered that the wine was not particularly good, but improved the more they drank, and by the fifth bottle it was the best wine they had drunk since before the First Age. The inn was a small wooden building with no windows and an open fire opposite the shabby-looking bar, and claimed to be a replica of a traditional Númenorian waterfront inn from the early Second Age, when the Elves of Tol Eressëa had frequently visited Númenor.

The taproom was quite busy, and the cousins were sitting in one corner, as far away from the stifling heat of the fire as they could get. In spite of the less than ideal surroundings, Maedhros had calmed down from his earlier rage, and was feeling almost mellow when there was a disturbance among the Sindar. A silver-haired Elf that Maedhros was certain he had seen somewhere before was pointing in his direction and whispering to his dark-haired companion, who also looked strangely familiar.

"That's Maedhros Fëanorian!" cried the silver-haired Elf.

"The Kinslayers are here!" shouted a second Elf.

"Let's kill them!" called a third.

Fingon dragged Maedhros under their table just as a dart whistled through the space where Maedhros's eye had been.

"Oh no, not again," said Fingon.

"Are you regularly attacked by mad Thindar?" said Maedhros

"You are supposed to say 'Sindar'. With an 'S'," said Fingon. "It happens to me every time I go to Alqualondë, but the Elves there are mostly Teleri, not Sindar. We just have to stay right here until they calm down - they never think to look under the tables."

"Then what do we do?" asked Maedhros.

"We fight our way out," said Fingon, "being very careful not to kill anyone. I assume Mandos put the 'No Kinslaying' restriction on you too?"

"He did," said Maedhros. "But why do these Thindar - I mean Sindar - want to kill me anyway? I kept the Orcs and Balrogs out of Beleriand for almost five centuries, and they show their gratitude by trying to murder me! They already killed five of my brothers once, and kept the Silmaril."

"You did kill quite a few of the Sindar in Menegroth and Sirion," said Fingon.

"I know, and I have repented of it," said Maedhros, "but if I had not killed them first they would certainly have killed me, and as Ambarussa said earlier, we did not start the Kinslayings."

"I do not think that is the point," said Fingon.

"Then what is?" demanded Maedhros.

"It could be that you won all three Kinslayings," said Fingon, "Losing a Kinslaying seems to make the Valar more sympathetic."

"That is ridiculous," said Maedhros.

"I know," said Fingon.

"Why do you keep going to Alqualondë if you always get attacked when you go there?"

"It gives me a chance to hone my fighting skills, and there is not much else to do in Valinor nowadays. Or there wasn't until you came back." They sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the fighting all around.

"I do not think these Sindar are like the Teleri of Alqualondë," said Maedhros, "They don't seem to be calming down, and I think that they might work out where we went any time now."

"You are right," said Fingon. "On the count of three, I shall push the table over, and we will make a run for the door."

"Wait," said Maedhros, "I think it would be wise to try crawling under the tables to the door, and attempting to get out without being noticed at all. And not fighting. If I start fighting, one of the Valar will show up - probably Tulkas again. I would rather that didn't happen, if we can possibly avoid it."

"It is a good idea," said Fingon, "but it will not work."

"Why not?" asked Maedhros.

"Because I am stuck," said Fingon.

"Why did you do that?" said Maedhros, "If you are still stuck when the Sindar find us, they will kill you. In this light we don't look very different, and neither of us looks anything like a Sinda."

"It is not my fault that the Sindar are all short and do not put large enough gaps between their tables and walls," protested Fingon, "and I'm sure I have not put on weight."

Maedhros tried to move, but found that he could not. "I am stuck too," he said.

"Never mind; I can still push the table over," said Fingon cheerfully. "We can use it as a shield on the way to the exit."

"Or a battering ram," said Maedhros. "Very well then, we shall use your original plan: you push the table over, we pick it up and then run for the door."

Fingon pushed the table over, and attempted to lift his side, but the petrified wood was too heavy. "It's no good; I cannot move it. We will have to jump over it and make a break for the door anyway."

The crash of the table falling over had been loud enough to attract the attention of the fighting Sindar, who now all turned to stare at Maedhros and Fingon.

"There they are!" cried one.

"Let's get them!" responded the crowd, and they surged forward. Someone at the back shot an arrow in Fingon's direction, but one of the Sindar had dived towards him, and the arrow went through the Sinda's shoulder.

He started shouting, staring at the arrowhead protruding from his chest. "Murder! Kinslaying! The Kinslayers have slain me!"

Tulkas appeared in the centre of the taproom, his hair touching the ceiling, and the Sindar all jumped back, trying to get out of the way of his flailing arms. He picked up the injured Sinda and started waving him around.

"Who is responsible for this?" boomed Tulkas, "Which of you filthy cowards has copied the evil tricks of Morgoth and shot this man in the back?"

"I was aiming for the Kinslayers," said one of the Sindar, stepping forward.

"Kinslayers, you say?" shouted Tulkas, "Where are the foul and cursed Kinslayers? I will rend them limb from limb with my own hands when I find them!"

"That's our cue to leave," said Fingon, and he and Maedhros pushed their way through the confused crowd and out of the inn.

"Oh no you don't" said a voice in front of them, and a bright light that resolved into a solid form blocked their path. "Two Kinslayers leaving the scene of crime looks very suspicious to me. Mandos will want to question both of you when he gets here, and if either of you leave his halls before the End of the World, then my name is not Olórin. Get back inside, both of you."

"I will not go back in there," said Fingon. "I was cut in half by a Balrog once, so I know what it is like, and I refuse to be torn apart by a mad Vala who cannot even remember who killed his bear from one moment to the next."

"I would rather not be torn apart by anyone, whatever their mental state," said Maedhros. "Tulkas is not the only one in there who would like to send me back to the Halls of Waiting."

"If you do not go inside at once I shall send you back to the Halls of Waiting myself!" said Olórin.

"How do you plan to do that?" asked Maedhros.

"Hobbits," snorted Olórin.

"Hobbits?" said Fingon, "Do you mean the small Men with hairy feet? Maglor was talking about them yesterday, but I do not see how you can use an extinct species to send us to Mandos. There was an uproar about six thousand years ago, when three of them came to Valinor, but they all died, so I do not think there was anything to worry about. No-one even suggested that Hobbits could cause fatalities among the Elves."

"I meant that you ask silly questions like Hobbits did," said Olórin, "I can send you back to Mandos in any way I wish, and if you try my patience further you will find out exactly which way I shall choose."

"I think he is threatening us, cousin," said Fingon.

"It certainly sounds like a threat," said Maedhros, "but I do not think he means to carry it out - he does not even have a sword."

"I have a sword!" said Olórin indignantly, drawing Glamdring, which sparkled in the moonlight.

"Now he's definitely threatening us," said Maedhros, "Fortunately disembodying a Maia does not count as Kinslaying, so we will not be breaking our parole conditions."

"Did someone say 'Kinslaying'?" bawled Tulkas, who had finished searching the inn and had just squeezed himself through the doorway, taking the doorframe with him.

"I did," said Maedhros.

"Have you seen the Kinslayers?" Tulkas asked, bending down to look Maedhros in the eye.

"They are the Kinslayers, you imbecile!" said Olórin.

"Shall we run?" said Fingon.

"Tulkas can run faster than we can," said Maedhros.

"But will he run in the right direction?" asked Fingon.

"Even Tulkas is not that stupid," said Maedhros, "he could not possibly be, or he would not have been able to defeat Morgoth. He would have forgotten who he was supposed to be wrestling and chained up Manwë or Nienna instead before he got as far as the pits of Utumno."

"Foul Kinslayers! Allies of Morgoth! I shall make you pay for your deeds!" shouted Tulkas. "I shall tear you apart, just as you did to my poor bear!"

"Kinslayers!" roared the crowd, and every Sinda in the inn tried to get out, pounding on the walls when they could not reach the door, and the wooden side of the inn collapsed, squashing Tulkas and Olórin, but not Maedhros and Fingon, who had gradually been edging away from the building and the Ainur, in case an escape route presented itself. Fingon picked up Glamdring, which had been thrown clear when Olórin fell, but before he could remark upon the fine craftsmanship, the Sindar streamed out and up their new ramp, jumping enthusiastically off the end, and Maedhros and Fingon fled.


	16. Olórin

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry it's been so long since I last updated this, and I can't promise that future updates will be any quicker since real life (in the form of trying to get a job for after I leave university) is rather getting in the way, but I am still writing!

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work._

**Escape Interlude 8: Olórin**

As the wall of the inn knocked him off his feet, Olórin found himself thinking fondly of the Third Age, when the worst things he had to face were a Balrog and a power-crazed, ring-obsessed Maia. He lost his grip on Glamdring, the sword from Gondolin that had served him so well during many adventures, and one of the Kinslayers - he could not see which one - picked it up. Olórin supposed it didn't matter which it was, since all the sons of Fëanor and Fingolfin were as bad as each other, with the possible exception of Turgon, who had shown some small amount of sense for a short time by managing to avoid the first Kinslaying.

Some of the Sindar were certain to die on Glamdring's blade today, and Olórin wondered if he could have done anything to prevent it, although two Kinslayers who were desperate enough to threaten to disembody Olórin, the wisest of the Maiar, would surely not even think before slaughtering the Sindar of Tol Eressëa indiscriminately.

Hobbits would never have done such a thing, but though a Hobbit had been the only one able to carry Sauron's ring to Mount Doom, Olórin did not think that even Frodo could have resisted the lure of the Silmarils, so perhaps there was some excuse for the Fëanorians' behaviour in the First Age, but there was no excuse now. In Olórin's opinion all the Kinslayers should have been kept in the Halls of Mandos until the End of the World, as Námo himself had originally decreed, and Olórin now decided to make it his personal goal to make sure that they were all sent back.


	17. Avallone

Only 2 1/2 years late... Sorry!

**Escape Chapter 9: Avallone**

Maedhros and Fingon ran as fast as they could away from the inn, not caring which direction they were going as long as it was putting as much distance as possible between them, the horde of enraged Sindar and the Ainur, who couldn't be expected to stay under the collapsed wall for long. Ahead was a tall, white tower gleaming in the moonlight, and in Maedhros's opinion it looked reasonably fortress-like, although it didn't have the comfortingly Orc-resistant sturdiness of Himring. They went inside and bolted the door behind them, wedging it closed with some antique furniture that had been illegally dumped by the Sindar of ages past.

"Does this place have a water supply?" Maedhros asked Fingon.

"I haven't a clue, but it does have a Palantir. We can call your father!"

"You want to get my father involved in a situation with one furious Vala, a recently-squashed Maia and a lynch mob of Sindar? Did Mandos give you iron filings for brains when he restored you to life?"

"Oh. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea. I just hoped we wouldn't have to get Galadriel to rescue us - it gets embarrassing after the first couple of dozen times, particularly when I'm supposed to be Fingon the Valiant, but Uncle Finarfin gets upset when I fight back, so it's usually up to Galadriel to talk the Sindar into submission. She's very good at it."

"Bother that," said Maedhros. "We're safe enough for now, and if Galadriel, or anyone else, wants to rescue me in the morning then they're very welcome. Let's go up to the top of the tower and try to get some sleep. We won't have much chance to take a nap once the Sindar arrive."

ooOoo

It was in the early hours of the morning when Celeborn reached his daughter's house, where he knew his wife was staying. "Galadriel!" he shouted, "Come quickly, something terrible has happened!"

Galadriel put her head out of one of the upstairs windows. "What is it, Celeborn?" she snapped, "Can't you see that it's the middle of the night?"

"Midnight seems as bright as midday to me in your radiant presence, O fair one," said Celeborn.

"You're drunk," said Galadriel disdainfully, "Tell me why you are here, and then go away until you sober up."

"As my lady wishes," said Celeborn. "Your cousins Maedhros and Fingon were at Ye Olde Númenorian, and Oropher recognised them, so he raised a hue and cry, and there was a slight accident."

"Did that idiot Oropher start a fight with my cousins?" asked Galadriel, "I hope he enjoys his second stay in Mandos."

"No, no," said Celeborn, "it's much worse than that. Legolas shot an arrow at Fingon, and Thranduil... Well, er, he got in the way."

"Legolas shot Thranduil?" said Galadriel, "It's fairly amusing, I suppose, but hardly worth the trouble of waking me up at this hour, particularly after the day I've had. I assume the fool isn't dead."

"No, no, he's alive, and I wouldn't have woken you if it had just been that," said Celeborn, "but there's more. Maedhros and Fingon ran outside when Tulkas appeared, so everyone tried to go after them, and the wall fell down and squashed Tulkas and Mithrandir."

"Where are my cousins now?"

"I don't know, but wherever they are, they'll have an army of infuriated Thindar close behind."

"I'll take a look in my mirror and see if I can find them. You'd better go and contact Varda before we have another Kinslaying to deal with. Tell her to get Tulkas out of the way and send someone with more intelligence - no, not Aulë, he'd only annoy the Sindar more. Either Yavanna or Oromë would do, if she can't come herself."

Galadriel closed the window and set to work, quickly locating the mob milling about outside the inn, although her mirror didn't seem inclined to show her where her cousins were. There was Olórin too, dragging himself up out of a pile of wood, and looking as irritable as he had during his time as Gandalf the Grey. The inn was probably a good starting place for the search, and since three of the best trackers in the whole of Elvish history were staying under the same roof as her, finding Maedhros and Fingon was the easy part. Keeping the crowd away was likely to be harder. She gathered some essential supplies and woke the rest of the household.

Olórin was still at the inn when Galadriel, her daughter and son-in-law, Turgon and the six younger sons of Fëanor arrived. "Elrond, will you please go in there and heal that fool Thranduil before Legolas drowns him in tears of remorse?" he said. "These Sindar are worse than Hobbits, you know, but at least with Hobbits you could be fairly sure that any mobs were after food or beer or pipe-weed. All the Sindar are interested in is killing kinslayers. I'm not saying it isn't a laudable ambition, but when I get squashed by a wall in the process I can't help but feel they should leave that sort of thing to me."

"What, squashing self-righteous Maiar underneath walls?" said Curufin.

"Has the whole island filled up with kinslayers now?" said Olórin. "I've a good mind to send you back to the Halls of Mandos right now young man, so you'd better mind your manners."

"I couldn't agree more," said Turgon.

"Don't get me started on you, Turgon, unless you want to hear my opinion on kings who ignore warnings from the Valar. Let's go after your brother and cousin before they can provoke any more damage. Oh, and any Fëanorians in the party can go right back to where you came from. I can track the Sindar without your help. Given the mood they're in at the moment I wouldn't be surprised if the Sindar tore you to pieces as soon as they saw you, and while I wouldn't do anything to stop them, it might just annoy your brother enough to make him go on one of his killing sprees."

"Maedhros wouldn't do that," said Amrod.

"Are you quite sure about that?" said Galadriel.

"Oh yes, we're absolutely sure - he's the sensible one," said Amras.

Galadriel turned to look at Olórin, and rolled her eyes expressively. "May Eru protect us from sensible Fëanorians," she said.

ooOoo

"Kinslayers! Kinslayers!" bayed the crowd.

"Do be quiet," said Fingon, "My head hurts."

In the daylight the Tower of Avallone reminded Maedhros more of Himring than it had the night before. It was much smaller, of course, made out of a different type of stone, and had a view of the sea, but it was rather reminiscent of his old home, evoking a certain nostalgia.

"Stop wool-gathering, Maitimo," said Fingon, "We are about to be attacked by the Sindarin horde."

"I can see that," said Maedhros, "But I do not know what I am supposed to do about it. It's going to take them an hour or two to get through all our barricades, so I suggest we just sit and wait for Galadriel to get here."

There was no food in the tower, so breakfast consisted of some bread rolls and chunks of meat that Fingon had hidden in his pocket the day before. Maedhros was glad his younger brothers weren't there to throw the rolls, which were on the stale side, over the side of the tower onto the Sindar below.

The day wore on and by mid-morning Fingon was tired, hungry and thirsty. It wasn't that he couldn't deal with the minor discomfort it caused, but he didn't see why he should have to - not in Valinor anyway - and unlike Maedhros he didn't have memories of being suspended by his right wrist from Thangorodrim to draw upon. "I'm supposed to be Fingon the Valiant, not Fingon the Coward-who-hides-in-a-tower," he muttered, just loud enough for Maedhros to hear, but quiet enough so he could ignore it if he wanted to.

He didn't want to. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with staying in towers until you've got a good chance of getting out alive," said Maedhros. "It's better than getting impatient and losing the war."

"Alright, I suppose I deserved that," said Fingon. "I'm just going downstairs to check on the barricade." Actually Fingon had no intention of checking the barricade. Slowly and carefully, making as little noise as possible he moved the furniture away from the door, and pulled it open with a creak that brought Maedhros hurtling down the tower stairs.

Fingon charged out of the tower into the Sindarin horde, which had moved back a few yards when he opened the door, sword drawn and a manic look on his face. "The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come!" He shouted, ignoring the sensation of mumakil dancing in his head that shouting caused.

"Oh bother," said Maedhros, "Not again!" And he ran after his cousin, pinning his arms just in time to stop the lead Sinda from being decapitated, dragging him back into the tower and barricading the door again before the Sindar could recover from the shock of the sudden attack. "Dear cousin, I know it's dull in here, but suicidal attacks aren't going to help either of us. Twelve thousand years in the Halls of Mandos was far too long, and I'm not planning to go back there unless it's a choice between that and somewhere even worse. If you can't restrain your kinslaying instincts I'll have to tie you up."

"If you insist," said Fingon sulkily, feeling as if he was a child being reprimanded by an over-cautious parent. "But don't forget it took two Balrogs to kill me last time, though."

"Don't be like that about it," said Maedhros, trying to project the air of unremitting cheerfulness that Finrod always maintained and he always found vastly irritating. "Galadriel and my brothers are approaching, so we shouldn't be here much longer. Let's go back up to the roof and let them know we're alive and well."

"I wonder if she's brought some water with her," said Fingon. "Oi! Galadriel! If you've brought some food along why don't you come up and join us for breakfast!"

Galadriel pretended she hadn't heard. "Maedhros, I hope you aren't going to jump off that tower," she said, "It was bad enough cleaning up after the polar bear yesterday without having to scrape your remains of the path today."

"Of course I'm not going to jump," said Maedhros, "And besides, there is no fiery chasm for me to jump into."

"That can be arranged," said Olórin.

"Very well then, I'm not going to jump even if there is a fiery chasm anticipating my arrival. This time any kinslaying was nothing to do with me, there were no Silmarils involved in any way whatsoever, and unless you caught my brothers with Thindarin blood still drying on their hands, I won't believe they did it either."

"Sindarin," said Fingon and Galadriel simultaneously, but in Fingon's case it was an unconscious response, because he had been distracted by something very strange happening at the back of the crowd of Sindar. It really was most puzzling. In a crowd of Noldor - at least after Fëanor had set the precedent - it wasn't unusual to find someone holding a close relative at swordpoint. No-one took it seriously, and in general it was better to get a quarrel out into the open, rather than let it fester for millennia. But here was a tall, blond Sinda, holding his sword in his left hand and pointing it at the throat of another, and if Fingon's eyesight was any good (which it was), he was sure the two were Thranduil and his son Legolas.

"Kinslayer!" shouted Thranduil. "You shot me! I always knew you were after my kingdom, you overgrown Dwarf!" The Sindar began quietly separating themselves into two factions, the first consisting of Legolas's friends and those elves who had found Thranduil rather too Noldorin for their tastes (the whole jewellery-collecting business was incredibly suspicious, after all, and Finrod Felagund did get about rather a lot during the First Age) and the other of loyal former Mirkwood elves who hadn't forgotten Thranduil's generosity with Dorwinion wines.

"Kinslayer!" shouted Tulkas, suddenly arriving on the scene and snatching both Thranduil and Legolas into the air by their belts, almost causing a kinslaying in the process. "You have killed my bear!"

"You know, I've always found it rather disturbing that there's at least one Vala who can't tell the difference between an Elf and a Bear," said Maedhros.

"But think how much trouble we would have been spared if Morgoth hadn't been able to either," said Fingon. "Your father might have gone insane anyway, but who would have noticed without Morgoth encouraging him to make swords?"

"On the subject of swords, I think the Th... Sindar are about to make use of theirs," said Maedhros, and indeed, the crowd's attention was now firmly fixed on Tulkas and his prisoners. "Hey, Olórin, you might want to get Tulkas to hand over those Sindar before the rest attack him. If he gets disembodied within bowshot of me, I can just imagine the rest of the Valar deciding I was somehow to blame and carting me straight back to Mandos."

"I don't want to see you go back to Mandos, but the bears of Valinor would be much safer if Tulkas wasn't around," said Fingon.

"Noldor!" said Olórin. "Enough, Tulkas," he roared, "Put them down and come and get these two young fools out of this tower instead. They're your real kinslayers."

Galadriel took advantage of Olórin's momentary distraction to take a rope from her pack and throw it up to her cousins. "You might want to make use of this," she said.

"Now there's a cousin who knows how to pack for a rescue mission," said Maedhros, catching the rope and quickly attaching it to the hinge of the trapdoor and throwing the end over the far side of the tower.


	18. Tulkas

**Escape Interlude 9: Tulkas**

"Where's my bear?" thought Tulkas, although to be honest, 'thinking' wasn't quite the right word for the process occurring in Tulkas's brain. "Someone has killed my bear!" the non-thought continued. "Someone must pay for killing my bear!"

He was suddenly distracted from not thinking about his bear by a shout from Olórin, the words of which went in one ear and straight out of the other, but it had been something about Kinslaying, and preventing a Kinslaying was, after all, the purpose of his mission. Tulkas looked carefully at the Elves in front of him and realised that many of them were waving swords in the air. This was a bad sign! Elves used swords for fighting, and fighting quite naturally lead to killing, but why did they have swords at all? Was this fight planned?

Yet there was something else... yes, a bear, a beautiful white bear from the far north that had taken weeks to find. Where was it? Where was it? Aha! Of course! It was dead. A Kinslayer had murdered it. Now what Olórin was saying made sense: the kinslayers who had killed his bear were here. They were here, but Olórin was pointing to the top of the tower, waving his hand around, and there was no-one there. Olórin was mistaken, then, which wasn't so strange - after all, he was only a Maia - and the kinslayers were before him, now taking a few experimental swings at each other with their swords.

Slowly and painfully a recollection dragged itself from the depths of Tulkas's mind, although to be honest 'mind' wasn't quite the right word, and nor was the non-mind anything other than shallow. In the memory he saw himself holding two Elves at arms length, one with golden hair and the other with hair of a colour that eluded him. Were they the killers? Yes, he rather supposed that they must be, given that before Olórin had distracted him he was quite clearly intent on depriving the two of their freedom. Where had they gone?


End file.
